


Day 5 - On The Run (5.1)

by fanfictiongreenirises



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Anxiety, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Don't copy to another site, Gen, On the Run, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26831878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises
Summary: All Dick knows is that he has to keep moving.No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?On the Run| Failed Escape | Rescue
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947217
Comments: 22
Kudos: 151





	Day 5 - On The Run (5.1)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading my Whumptober fics!!! The response has been overwhelming (in the best way =D) <3<3<3 (and I'm also super sorry I'm so behind with replying to comments - all my classes slapped the roof of this long weekend and said "this bad boy can fit So Many assessment deadlines" ;~; )
> 
> Warnings: vomiting (not very graphic), anxiety and paranoia
> 
> Disclaimer: don't own dc ^~^

THIS FANFICTION IS HOSTED ON **ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN** , WHERE YOU CAN READ IT FOR **FREE**. IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON A DIFFERENT WEBSITE, IT WAS POSTED THERE **WITHOUT** THE AUTHOR’S CONSENT.

A piercing white light is the first thing Dick registers. It sends a sharp shard of pain through his head, and he gasps, bending over and squeezing his eyes shut. The motion doesn’t help the rising nausea; his stomach swirls dangerously.

Dick stumbles a little – he hadn’t even noticed that he's standing up – and his hand braces against the wall to his left. It’s brick. His fingers find the grooves between each brick, digging into them. He can feel the scrape of his nails against the cement. This is an old building – he can tell by the little gaps in the cement, indicating the wear and tear of the building. If he keeps scratching at it, bits and pieces will fall out.

The nausea gets the better of him and Dick bends forward more, almost at a ninety degree angle now, throwing up absolutely nothing. His stomach spasms and contracts as it tries to chuck up something of substance, but there’s nothing. All that comes out are spatters of stomach acid, strings of bile plopping to the concrete ground of the alleyway.

Finally, Dick spits out the last remaining fluid still coating the inside of his mouth and straightens up. His head spins a little, and he has to breathe deeply, just like he’s been taught to.

Ten breaths, both in and out, and his body finally feels like it’s stabilising. But for some reason, Dick’s heart is still jackhammering in his chest, threatening to pop out or give out on him entirely if he doesn’t alleviate the anxiety.

Why is he anxious? Dick can’t remember anything from that night; trying to poke at the holes in his mind only cause his headache to spike up, and that’s the last thing he wants.

Once he starts to walk, his mind eases the tiniest increment. A thought comes into his mind: he has to keep moving.

He doesn’t know why. He can’t trace it back to a reason, but as long as it prevents his body from having a heart attack or something, he’ll take it.

Dick sticks to the shadows, to the dark corners and nooks that appear in every large city. His clothes help—

That’s when Dick glances down and realises that he’s wearing his Nightwing costume. Shakily, he reaches up a hand to his face, breathing out a sigh of relief when his gloved fingers touch upon his mask.

That answers a few questions.

He tries to turn on the comms unit, but there’s nothing there, not even static. Dick swallows, not even wincing at the bitter taste on his tongue. He can deal with this. All he has to do is figure out where he is, and get help. If this is Gotham, then there’ll be Bats on practically every street corner.

But the moment Dick looks upwards, to the rooftops, his pulse spikes. Suddenly, all he can hear and feel and even think about is his heartbeat, how he has to get away _right fucking now_.

Dick snaps his head back down, hunkering beside a nearby dumpster and trying to calm down. The scent of the trash helps – it’s grounding enough that focusing on the rotting vegetables brings him back to reality.

Dick doesn’t try again, sticking to the ground. The same thing happens every time he tries to step out of the dark alleys. He doesn’t know what happened to make him have such an adverse reaction to them, but he _hates_ this with every fibre of his being.

That’s when Dick realises that he hasn’t even checked his pockets yet, or even his utility belt. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ …

There’s no belt. It’s gone. Dick pats around his other pockets, the little pockets and hidden holes here and there that he’d taken such pride in designing.

His lock picking kit is still in place, as are three of his knives. His escrima sticks are long gone, as are their holders. The taser that prevents the suit and mask from being taken off or tampered with have been disabled – or used.

Dick fiddles around for his tracking beacons. They’re missing as well, all five of them. Something ugly festers inside him at the thought of what someone would’ve had to do, in order to take out _all_ of them. They’re in places like his ankles, around his crotch, at the centre of his torso – not places one would normally go to looking for trackers. He doesn’t know what it means that they’re gone, or that his suit is still perfectly in one piece.

There’s a phone booth at the intersection of the street, right below a bright streetlight. Dick can easily bypass the mechanism that requires for coins, but he doesn’t know if he’s going to make it all the way over there, out of the shadows.

Dick swallows and takes a deep breath. He has to try, at least.

He makes a run for it, but immediately, his physical reactions begin. There’s definitely something else in his system, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that Dick has to make it to that phone booth.

He grasps at the door handle, yanking it open and shoving his body inside as fast as he can. The minute he’s in there and the door has closed again behind him, Dick finds himself in a corner curled up into a tiny ball, chest heaving.

He doesn’t dare shut his eyes, no matter how much he wants to. He has to be able to see, to know if someone’s coming up behind him or through that door. Dick tries breathing techniques, and while they make his breaths come in slower, they do almost nothing for his pulse.

Dick has to make the call while he’s still able to function relatively well. He crawls over to the phone booth; right now, the last thing on his mind is how terribly unhygienic this whole place is. Even with shaky fingers, the call goes through.

Someone picks up instantly.

“Wayne Manor, Alfr—”

“A,” Dick interrupts, voice hoarse and rough from disuse. God, he wants a glass of water so bad. “It’s me.”

“Ma— _Nightwing?”_

“Yeah, Al.” Dick can almost cry from relief. “I’m… I don’t know where I am. Where’s B? The others?”

“They’re tracing this call as we speak,” Alfred says, his voice calm and reassuring.

Dick grips the phone tight and nods, even though he knows Alfred can’t see it. It’s enough, though, to know that there’s someone coming for him. He has no idea what happened, but he will soon enough.

Apparently Dick spaced out for a moment, because when he focuses once more, Alfred is mid-sentence. “…been missing for three days,” he’s saying.

“Three days?” Dick repeats. “I… the last thing I remember is…” He bites back a gasp as his brain rebels against his probing. “I don’t know,” he finishes lamely, words quiet.

“That’s alright, dear boy,” Alfred tells him. Dick wonders how Alfred does it, how he can contain his emotions like this. “Someone will be at your location in two minutes. Please stay on the phone with me while you’re waiting.”

Dick lets out a croaky chuckle. “’Course,” he says. He stays in his grungy corner until help comes, clinging to Alfred’s soothing voice as he speaks.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! This has a sequel, which will be out for day 7.
> 
> This is also [cross-posted on tumblr](https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/post/631112379012366336/day-5-on-the-run)
> 
> EDIT: [here's the sequel!!!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26871982/)


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